Late Night Scare
by halfdragonbooknerd
Summary: Set back in the early 1700s. England is spending time with colonial America, but the young nation does not know that his caregiver is actually a female, as England disguises herself as a male. America has a nightmare and goes to England's room in the middle of the night seeking comfort. Told from England's point of view. One shot and a spin off of England's Secret.


**Hi everyone! If you had read my other story, England's Secret, sorry for taking so long to publish this one. I had finals and just finally got up to uploading this spin-off. I would highly recommend that you read my other story to add context to this one, but it is not necessary in order to fully understand it. The next chapter of England's Secret should be finished and uploaded soon. ****And just so you know, I own none of the character, only the situation. Enjoy!**

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><p>I was in young America's bedroom, tucking him in to bed. The small child had fallen asleep while I was telling him a bedtime story, the little darling. His mouth is hanging open slightly and his gravity defying cow-lick is sticking straight up. He is snuggling close to the stuffed rabbit that I made for him so that I can always be with him in spirit even if I am not there physically. He is just so cute and peaceful when he is sleeping, appearing to be more like his age of 4 years old by human standards. You cannot even tell how excitable and rambunctious he can be some times.<p>

I softly whisper, "Good night, Alfred. Sweet dreams, my love," in his ear before blowing out the lamp on his wall and head down the hall to my bedroom that I have on the rare occasions that I say in the American colonies for extended periods of time. I do not get to visit him often, being across the ocean from my little brother, and was grateful when my boss allowed for me to visit my little colony.

I undress and prepare for bed, grateful to finally be able to take off the specialized corset that I use to bind my chest to keep up the appearance of being a male. I could tell that the potion that lowers my voice an octave is wearing off, as I could feel a slight tingle in the back of my throat. While it is not uncomfortable or dangerous to take it for long periods of time, thanks to assistance from Norway and Romania, I do like to rest my voice. I will simply wake up early and take it so that America does not realize the difference. I also wear male night clothes as a precaution, but would end up with cracked ribs (or worse) if I wore my binder to bed.

Since it was only around 8 pm and the sun had just barely set, I decide to stay up and read by the light of a candle. I retrieve my copy of Paradise Lost by John Milton and begin reading. While I have read this epic poem many times, it still fascinates me. Time passes quickly, and before I know it, I hear the clock strike 11. I blow out the candle and am just about to fall asleep when I hear a small snob. I sit up and see Alfred standing in the doorway of my room, dragging his stuffed rabbit behind him. Tears streaming down his face, he managed to choke out in a small voice, "Engwand… I'm scawed. Can I sweep with you?"

My heart immediately softened looking across his tear stained face, and I patted the area next to me. "Of course you can, America. Come here and tell me what's wrong. Did you have a bad dream?

"Yes, it was very scawy." He walks over to the bed and crawls in next to me. He looks up at me with confusion in his eyes. "Artur… why does your voice sound funny?"

This innocent little statement sent my heart racing as I begin to panic. He can't know that I am female! I did not realize that children were so perceptive. There's no way he would be able to keep the secret if I told him! I take a deep breath to steady myself before responding, "Well… it is because I am starting to lose my voice."

America looks even more confused and puzzled by my quickly concocted excuse. "Lose your voice? How do you lose your voice? You still have it, don't you?"

My mind is racing, trying to put it in terms that he can understand. "Yes, I still have my voice. You see, America, I used my voice too much today. When that happens, your voice changes to become either higher or lower. In my case, it became higher. Does that make sense?"

America just stared at me for a moment, as if trying to discern if I was lying or not. However, he simply nodded and seemed to buy my reason, and I released a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"

He looks up to me and his face lights up. "Yes please!" He snuggles close to me and lays his head gently on my chest. "You're very soft."

I brush off his comment and hold him close, running my hand through his hair. I clear my throat and start singing a song I remember recently hearing back in London.

Hark now the drums beat up again

For all true soldier gentlemen,

Then let us list and march, I say,

Over the Hills and far away

Over the hills and o'er the main

To Flanders, Portugal, and Spain,

Queen Anne commands and we'll obey,

Then over the hills and far away

I take another breathe to sing the next verse, only to realize that Alfred was fast asleep in my arms. I kiss his forehead and blow out the candle, whispering, "Good night love. Sweet dreams."


End file.
